Mercy
by voldybadass
Summary: You let one of them go but that's nothing new. Every now and then a little victim's spared because she smiled, 'cause he's got freckles. 'Cause they begged. And that's how you live with yourself. That's how you slaughter millions. Because once in a while— on a whim, if the wind's in the right direction— you happen to be kind.


_**Disclaimer**: Tom Riddle is not mine (sadly). The quote is also from Doctor Who. Enjoy!_

_**"**You let one of them go but that's nothing new. _

_Every now and then a little victim's spared because she smiled,_

_ 'cause he's got freckles. _

_'Cause they begged. _

_And that's how you live with yourself. _

_That's how you slaughter millions. _

_Because once in a while— on a whim, if the wind's in the right direction— _

_you happen to be kind."_

* * *

Tom adored that place. It was an irony of the destiny, he supposed. When he was young, the orphanage was everything but his favourite place to be, and yet now things had changed drastically to both of them. Tom was no longer a little boy, afraid he'd be sent to a 'special school'; he was no longer dependent of Mrs. Cole kindness; Tom was no longer Tom, for now he was best known as Voldemort. The orphanage was not the same as well. The old house where he once lived existed no more. Now, a gigantic business building had taken its place, standing high and powerful against the sky. It was a symbol, he thought. The orphanage had been destroyed merciless and were never to exist again, and his past self, that scared child, had been destroying along with it. No one would ever know that part of him had existed. Now all that was left was a new unbreakable man – and building.

A gentle breeze messed Tom's hair, and he smiled. People were walking past him, sending strange looks at his direction, but he paid no attention. The noise of the street behind him was loud, and the voices of the walkers would reach him muffled, the meaning of their words lost among the chaos. Tom inspired heavily, hands on his pockets. Yes, he adored that place.

Suddenly, something hit his legs forcefully, making Tom lose his balance and fall to the ground. When he finally looked up, he found himself staring at two big black eyes that belonged to a small child.

"I-I am sorry mist-ter." The boy mumbled trying to stand up once he too had fallen. Tom was faster, thought, and was on his feet before the child.

"Who are you?" He demanded. Tom considered briefly helping the kid to get up, but quickly discarded the idea with a shake of his head. The boy finally got up, cleaning his hands on his dirty pants.

"My name," He started to say, but his voice broke. Cleaning his throat loudly, he tried again. "My name is Junior, sir."

Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Your name can't be Junior. You must be named after your father. What is your first name?" Tom asked, still eyeing the boy who refused to look at him and instead gazed at the ground, his long brown hair falling all over his face.

Tom wondered if that Junior kid had parents at all. The boy seemed to be homeless, if his fashions were any clue. He also seemed incredibly dirty, his strong smell making the man almost turn his face on the other direction. If Tom was right and he was dealing with someone whom no one would miss, maybe he could take the boy and use him in one of his most dangerous experiments…

"I don't have any other name. My grandma said I was to be named after my dad, 'cause so said my mom before she died, but no one knew who my dad was so it's just Junior."

Even with all the dirty and hair covering the boy's face, Tom could see how his cheeks turned red as he explained the story. The man laughed unable to stop himself. Junior finally looked up, crossing his arms.

"There isn't nothing funny here, sir." Junior completed, lifting his chin with bravery. Tom inspired heavily to stop laughing, cleaning the corner of his eyes where some tears had appeared.

"Oh, this is tremendously funny, child," He replied, gazing back at the boy. Tom observed him for a long moment. It was evident he could take that boy to his experiments, and judging by the fire that burned in his eyes, Junior would last longer than most. But yet… "Look, where is that grandmother you talked about?" He inquired. The boy uncrossed his arms and balanced a little on his feet, seeming to decide whereas or not to tell Tom.

"She is at our house. I'm supposed to get back with some money to help her." Junior answered after some time. Tom nodded. He looked once again to the building at his side, and for a second he could swear he had seen the shadow of the orphanage still there, he could swear he had heard the voices of those orphans that had known nothing but pain, he could swear he was Tom and not Voldemort again.

"You want to see something cool?" He offered the kid at his side without looking at him. He could, however, feel Junior jumping at his side.

"Yes! Wait, I can't go anywhere with strangers…" Junior said, stiffening for a second.

"There's no need," Tom replied, finally turning to the boy. He turned his head to the side, smiling at the uncertain face Junior made. "I won't hurt you. Well, not with so many witnesses at least." The boy laughed, thinking the man had joked. Tom laughed too, because he knew he was not.

Junior bite his lips, but slowly approached Tom, his eyes wide with curiosity. The man held his breath, part in anticipation, part to avoid the bad smell that emanated from the kid. When they were close enough so no one could see exactly what he was showing the other, Tom cupped his hands and reached out to the boy. At first, nothing happened, and he saw Junior's mouth opening to protest. But suddenly, inside Tom's hand, started to form out of thin air a little ballerina made of crystals. The kid's mouth hung open. The ballerina started dancing graciously as snow was falling from somewhere above her head. This made the boy gasp. All the while Tom smiled, observing Junior's amazement in front of the simplest spell he conjured. Finally, he closed his hands with a clap, making everything disappear as if it never existed. The kid kept looking at where once was the little ballerina, blinking forcefully.

"You… That… It was… Juts so…" He tried to say something, but all he could do was shake his head repeatedly.

Tom laughed. He put his hand on his pocket and took out a galleon. Putting it against Junior's palm, he said serious:

"This is made of pure gold. Sell it. Don't let anyone else see you have it."

The boy eyed between Tom and the galleon with wide eyes. The man smiled once again, nodded, and walked away. He looked back just once, to see a little smiling boy running away from a great building. No more orphanage stood there; no more sad children stood there. Yes, that was definitely his favourite place of them all.


End file.
